"Has he?" Joylin materialized, seemingly out of the ether.

  Petunia's eyes widened, the last vestiges of color draining from her face. "Joylin... I... I..."

  Joylin drifted past her, lips pursed, her gaze locked entirely on me. Three ghoul-cheerleaders emerged into the room and dragged a limp Petunia away. Bethany flanked them, her eyes wide, pom-poms trembling slightly. She didn’t say a word.

  "Come, Keith," Joylin called over her shoulder. "To the victor, the spoils."

  Her footsteps clacked like a gavel against the spotless tiled floors. I hadn’t been into the Immortality-Corp catacombs before, despite having circled the main atrium a dozen times. Had that door always been there?

  The walls down here were bare. Sterile. I liked it. The ambiance had the distinct chill of a good storage room, the temperature dialed down to preserve archival paperwork. We passed several doors. One stood ajar, and I stole a glance inside. A small, squat angelic being was red-faced and shouting, while a shadowy form cowered at its feet.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Markau; it won't happen again."

  It suddenly clicked: joy was strictly for the workers. Management, it seemed, was exempt from its own KPIs.

  I kept walking, acutely aware that I was trespassing in a realm above my pay grade. Joylin slowed, stopping before a featureless expanse of wall.

  "Stop for a moment, Keith. I want to show you something."

  I squared my shoulders, bracing myself. I had just out-bureaucrated a master; I could handle this.

  "Forgive me, Keith," she murmured.

  Before I could step back, two cold fingers pressed against my brow. The word fracture, and the sterile hallway faded. Two massive, terrifying gates rose up to crush me. The walls of my own mind began to close in.

  I fought back hard, latching onto a small spot of light expanding in the center of my vision. Glorious, life.

  My senses shifted back into place. Touch came first: someone was shaking my shoulders. Then, Oatmeal.

  Letters were physically dancing around my head. An "O" drifted off to the left. I swatted at it. Letters do not belong in the air.

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  "Keith!"

  It was Joylin. I wrenched myself out of her grip, my head swimming but my feet firmly planted.

  "Get back,

  you Fiend,

  you Miscreant,

  you... Angel."

  Angel?

  The word slipped out and hung in the frigid air. My internal hazard lights flared. Keith, you absolute idiot. I braced for impact.

  But Joylin brightened. A tiny gasp escaped her, followed by a flush of red across her cheeks.

  Wait. Did she... like that?

  I filed that reaction neatly into my Joylin repository. She quickly composed herself, her ethereal presence solidifying back into corporate menace.

  "You stupid, stupid... idiot." Her voice dropped to a dangerous hiss. "Do you have any idea what a lobotomy with a toilet brush feels like, Keith? An itch in your brain?"

  She pantomimed drawing a massive blade from her hip. "They take a big butcher’s knife and cut from here to here." Her finger slowly traced the circumference of my scalp. "And they go deep."

  I swallowed hard but held her gaze.

  "Then they put you in a large device that does the rest. You emerge changed, and it is irreversible by anyone but upper management. And they only deal with the big picture."

  "The Cherubs would have done that to you," she said, her voice softening just a fraction. "And I will not let them. I have vouched for you. I convinced them that you will stop digging. Can you do that, Keith? Can you stop digging?"

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She pressed something against my chest.

  It was a business card. Perfectly cut stock with a satin laminate. The background was a deep navy, professional and understated. Pale silver foil text adorned the front in a precise geometric sans serif. Every letter, every space, exact.

  "If you need me," Joylin cocked her head, "make sure it’s important."

  And then she was gone.

  I found myself alone in the catacombs, oddly disappointed. I patted my pocket. The thumb drive was still there.

  "No, Joylin," I muttered to the empty hall. "I go deep too."

  I retraced my steps back to Petunia’s desk. It was empty. The entire area was deserted. Joylin was nothing if not efficient.

  Taking a deep breath, I forced a broad smile and pictured beautifully stacked forms. Triggering a Melancholy Alert right now would be catastrophic. I needed grounding.

  Pushing through the canteen doors, I found a miserable-looking Seymour. Bethany was beside him, cheering for all she was worth, her pom-poms blurring in a frantic display of mandated joy. But it was obvious a Melancholy Alert had already come and gone. Deflated balloons and limp streamers were strewn across the floor. Over the intercom, a golden chime repeated a damning phrase: KPI Failed.

  I sat down next to the giant lobster.

  "You okay?" I asked hesitantly, unnerved by his vacant stare.

  His hulking carapace shifted toward me. "I am not stupid, Keith. I tried to make good affirmations every day. I brought my train for show-and-tell. I even told Janice she could hold it." His voice hitched in his throat. "I am due for re-alignment tomorrow."

  He handed me a crumpled infraction report. They were mostly scent-related, alongside one for failing affirmation KPIs, and an old complaint from Jothin about unauthorized trains in the lunchroom.

  "Seymour." I reached out and put my arm around his back—or at least, I got about halfway around his shell. I gently placed the Royal Scot back into his claws. "Let’s have that sleepover. I'll bring extra crayons."